The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (25 page)

Aris landed the
Safaran wingjet when they were still a distance from the prison. For a moment, they sat in the darkness of the wingjet, arms touching.

“You know what to do?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t look at him. Instead she stared out into the shadows of the forest and tried to keep her breathing steady.

“Alright, then.”

She popped the shield and they got out, meeting on his side of the jet. The moon glowed above them, turning the thin scar along his cheek silver. For once, he didn’t look like he was sneering; the perpetually quirked lip had a sweetness to it that made her want to smile back, even though she was dizzy with nerves.

“Are you sure?” His voice had lost its authoritative edge, and she could see the son, not the soldier, in his eyes.

“She’s your mother, Milek. We have to try to save her.” She held out her hands, wrists together.

He took her hands but, instead of binding them, he threaded his fingers with hers and drew her closer. If her heart, overtaxed as it was by the stress of their mission, had been able to beat faster, it would have. He shifted, bringing one hand up to touch her cheek. His pale face swallowed the dark, until the whole world was gone and all she could see was the soft glow of his eyes. He bent and kissed her, the lightest pressure against her lips.

Before she had time to close her eyes—or think—he drew back.

“Thank you. You are incredibly brave.”

Then, as she tried to quiet her breathing, he bound her wrists with a length of twine. She wanted to speak, tell him the truth—that she was terrified. But the words wouldn’t come. And it didn’t matter. She’d do this, terrified or not, because it was her job. Because Milek was counting on her.

He bent down, and when he stood, he rubbed a thumb gently along her cheek, leaving a streak of mud. He did the same at her waist and along her neck. And then he tore her tunic.

The ripping noise of the fabric made her shudder. All the while his face was searching hers and his eyes were kind. But the signs of a simulated struggle still gave her goosebumps, and her stomach churned. The thought of a Safaran doing something like what Milek was staging, the thought of rough hands tearing at her clothes . . .

“Aris.” His voice interrupted her dark imaginings. He held up a long, thin rod. “You remember how to use a sythin?”

“Yes.” That was one lesson she’d never forget.

“If you need to incapacitate someone quickly and quietly, use this.”

She nodded.

“Stand still.” His fingers slid up her side, their warmth and the coolness of the sythin shocking against her skin. He tucked the weapon up under her breastband, beneath her arm. “Can you reach it?”

Her bound hands easily found the end of the sythin, where it pressed against the bottom edge of her ribs. “I’ve got it. No problem.”

“Good. Now, when we get there, I’ll have to be different. Maybe a little rough. They have to believe you’re my captive. I’ll say things . . . just don’t listen, okay? Remember the mission.”

“I understand.”

Even as the words left her mouth, his face changed. The lines settled, the sneer at the corner of his mouth returned. He straightened his shoulders, and she realized he was again becoming the soldier, the secret operative who had infiltrated the Atalantan Military. He was no longer Milek, Galena Vadim’s son. He was Major Vidar.

In turn, Aris took a deep breath and tried to channel Aristos . . . tried to remember that she was an Atalantan soldier, not the battered village girl she looked like.
You can do this.

Milek helped her into the passenger seat of the wingjet and ran to the other side, flinging himself into the flyer’s seat.

“You ready?” he asked one last time.

“Yes, sir.”

Milek flew them toward the prison. His takeoff wasn’t as smooth as she could have done, but he was an adequate flyer. When he spoke into the headset, calling the prison to let them know he was arriving with a new prisoner, Aris closed her eyes.

With a deep breath, she prepared to meet the enemy.

•••

No one challenged their landing.

“Found her wandering the woods on my patrol,” Milek said, his voice harsh, as he dragged Aris from the jet. He smiled at the two soldiers standing beside the wing, one tall and heavyset, the other shorter and thin. “Think she might be a spy. Is there someplace I can interrogate her?” She kept her eyes on the ground and made a show of trying to shove away from him. “In private?” He pulled her closer, up against his side.

At Milek’s request, the soldiers stared knowingly at the torn fabric of her tunic.

“Of course. This way,” the shorter of the soldiers said. He was slight, thin-lipped, and had a way of whipping his head back and forth as he walked that reminded Aris of a lizard. He led them toward a squat building that ran along the edge of the landing pad. Bright floodlights illuminated a sea of black wingjets, but the world beyond the tarmac was eaten by the night.

“What unit did you say you were with?” The fat soldier kept glancing back at her, his eyes a little too bright.

“Foxfire, with Commander Eska,” Milek said, repeating the intel Jax had given them. He yanked her along as she pretended to resist. It wasn’t hard; her brain was telling her to run, to get as far away from here as she possibly could.

“Commander Eska?” The short, lizard-like one paused. “I thought he was recalled to Haben.”

The blood froze in her veins.
Holy hell, this is it
 . . .

Milek laughed. “And yet the nightmares continue.”

The big soldier finally took his eyes from Aris to glance at Milek. “Is it true he made someone eat donkey brains for two weeks because he missed morning formation?”

Milek shook his head. “Wasn’t donkey brains.”

“So, what was it then?” Lizard cocked his head.

With a jerk on Aris’s arm to get her moving, Milek smirked. “Let’s just say none of us ever missed formation again.”

The soldiers asked no more questions as they walked into the building, but Lizard’s slithering smile and the way he flicked his eyes from Milek’s face to hers made Aris nervous.

They walked through the large main room Jax had told them about; pallets lined the walls and tables crowded the center. She saw men, even a few women and children, curled up on the hard pads. They were obviously trying to sleep, though the light was shining bright as day from giant panels in the ceiling.

Milek drifted toward the wall. He gave her arm two quick squeezes, their signal. Then he stumbled on the edge of a sleeping mat, going down on one knee. She was the only one who saw the tiny ball—a gas grenade—he tucked under the mat. Pretending to escape, Aris wrenched her arm free and made for the door they’d come in. Milek lunged for her, pulling her to a stop. “You tripped me, you snake! What could you possibly have hoped to accomplish? You’ll pay for that.”

Their guides shared a look as Milek hauled her back to them. “Better get you two to interrogation,” Lizard said, turning his gaze on her.

The soldiers led them past several other guards and through a door at the far end of the room. Aris watched Lizard’s face from the corner of her eye. Any moment he was going to raise the alarm. She could
feel
his distrust. His suspicion. He nodded to a guard and she started to raise her head, panicked, to meet Milek’s eyes, but he squeezed her arm tighter in warning.

The hallway was also brightly lit, with blank white walls and no windows. Lizard turned left.

Perfect.

“Just down here,” Lizard said, his eyes glittering. Second hallway on the right, exactly as Jax said. The soldier swiped his hand across the wall about halfway down, and a door slid open. He walked into the room first, followed by Milek, who released her as he stepped inside.

The fat soldier took the opportunity to grab her arm himself. She let out a little whimper for effect. Then, as she crossed the threshold, she elbowed him in the gut, breaking his hold, and punched the panel to close the door.

When she turned around, the soldiers were on the floor in a pile. Milek stood over them, a sythin in hand.

“Nice work.” She stared at the unconscious men. She couldn’t look away from Lizard’s thin face, worried that his eyes would open . . . that he’d look back at her and smile his slippery, knowing smirk. “How long do we have?”

“Not long. As soon as we leave the room without our escorts, we’ll be on the clock. The gas grenade will go any minute. That will cause some confusion, maybe buy us another few minutes.” He rifled through Lizard’s pockets and fished out a backup passcard. “This should work on the locks.” He handed it to her, pulling the twine off her wrists as he did.

Milek handed her Lizard’s solagun and grabbed the other for himself. “You go, start to the left. I’ll work my way back toward the pen. I should be able to slow down whoever responds when the alarm is sounded. Unlock each door, but remember, the prisoners in these rooms may not be alone. You’ll have to take down the interrogators. We’re looking for a woman with bandages or a wounded face. Call her Galena . . . she’ll respond if it’s her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you find her, head back toward the pen.” He spared her a small glance. “Be safe.”

“You too.” Aris’s heart pounded against her ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape. “What will happen to the other prisoners?”

“As soon as we’re safely away, we’ll call in the coordinates to the nearest stationpoint. They’ll send a unit to retrieve the others.”

Aris nodded toward the soldiers on the ground. “And what about them? What if they wake up?”

Milek’s voice was grim. “They won’t.”

As she slipped from the room, she heard the hiss of the solagun behind her.

Aris ran a
few steps to the next door, her slippered feet soaking up the cold of the carbonate floor. The pointed end of the sythin dug into her waist every time she moved. She held the solagun up in one hand and the passcard in the other, her eyes scanning the hall. At any moment she expected someone to round a corner and come after her.

She opened every door in the corridor, but all of the rooms were empty. Blank walls, unoccupied beds with neat piles of folded linens at their feet. Metal chairs bolted to the floor. The windows had all been painted over, white and featureless. In the absolute silence, every noise she made sounded too loud.

With every door that opened to an empty room, her stomach sank further. Jax had seen Galena go down . . . she’d been shot. Maybe they’d taken her to a mender in a different wing of the building.

Or maybe she was already dead.

When Aris opened the door at the end of the long hall, she bit back a surprised scream. A guard was standing in the middle of the room, his fist drawn back to hit the frail, gaunt-faced man at his feet. At the hiss of the door, the guard turned. Before he could yell, Aris grimaced and sent a burst of solagun fire at his chest. He dropped slowly, knees crumpling. She backed out of the door, eyes locked on the prisoner. His face was swollen and purple with bruises.

She didn’t wait to see if he picked himself up and followed her.

She reached the end of the hall, turned the corner, and started on the next set of doors, her eyes constantly flitting along the corridor, ears straining for the slightest sound, praying she wouldn’t have to shoot anyone else. Her hands were starting to shake.

In the distance came a faint roar and a scream. The gas grenade.

She was about to reach the end of the hall and was hoping Milek had better luck when she heard the muffled echo of a woman’s scream. Aris slowed, creeping along the wall.

There. That door, fourth one on the left. The sounds were coming from in there.

Aris tightened her grip on the solagun.

She swiped the card and the door slid open. The instant the seal was broken, the full brunt of the screaming washed over her.

All she could see was writhing legs beneath a blood-stained sheet and the great bulk of a man in a white tunic standing over the bed.

“Stop!” She held her solagun up, ready to shoot. Her heart hammered in her chest but her hands were steadier than she expected. She kept her eyes focused on the man’s broad back, away from the blood.

Before she had time to pull the trigger, he leapt, arm outstretched, and knocked the solagun out of her hands. He sliced his other arm through the air and her face erupted in pain. He followed with his fist, knocking her into the wall. She slid to the floor, cradling her face in her hands. It felt as if her skin had been held over an open flame. Eyes watering, she tried to move, but he gripped her throat and pulled her to her feet.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hissed, his white teeth gleaming.

Aris couldn’t answer, couldn’t breathe. She threw an arm up, trying to break his hold. No luck. Her fingers scratched at his wrist, but the hard muscles of his forearm may as well have been steel beams.

She tried to cough, tried to drag air into her lungs, to no avail. Dark spots bloomed in front of her eyes. Aris kicked the man as hard as she could. He grunted but his fingers remained locked around her throat.

“Who are you?” He pounded her head into the wall. He didn’t loosen his hold enough for her to answer. With his other hand, he held something toward her face; its end shot blue flame. He brought it closer, as if he wanted to write on her skin. Just the thought made the line of fire on her cheek burn hotter.

She was going to die.

With the last vestiges of consciousness, she slid her hand up under her shirt. If she could—

There was a screeching rattle of a chain. The man turned his head. For a split second his hand slackened on her throat, and she sucked in half a breath.

Her fingers closed on the sythin. She pulled it free from her breastband, her thumb finding the button. Her torturer turned back to her, eyes widening at the weapon in her hand. His fingers squeezed harder, as if he wanted rip out her throat with his bare hand.

And then her arm drove the sythin into his stomach. For a moment he stared at her; then his mouth opened, and he dropped like a stone.

She tumbled to the ground, half on top of him, and bent forward, coughing. Her throat burned.

As she scrambled to her feet, she looked up and fought a horrified scream when she saw the red, scarred face of the woman looking back at her from the bed. When their eyes met, the woman began to cry.

“Galena Vadim? Ward of Ruslana?” Aris whispered, the words scraping along her injured throat.

The woman nodded, weeping.

“I’m Aris.” She stumbled to the bed, the sythin still held tightly in her hand. Galena’s arms were shackled. Aris fiddled with the restraints, her fingers clumsy. With a clang, they finally snapped open. “Milek and I came to find you.”

Galena threw her arms around Aris, knocking her back a step. “Milek is
here
?” When Aris nodded, the woman squeezed her tighter. “You blessed girl.”

Aris resettled her wig, which was draped half across her face.

“We have to hurry.” The words were barely audible. The pain of speaking made her want to scream, but that would only make it worse.

Aris bent to retrieve her solagun and stood over the man. She had to end him. It was safer that way. Still—she steeled herself to pull the trigger.

A hand touched her arm.

“Don’t.” Galena looked down at the man, her red-rimmed, ice-blue eyes full of hate.

“He’ll come after us when he wakes.”

“You can’t kill him now.” Galena’s voice was shaking. “I will have him brought before the World Council for the crimes he has committed. His secrets will not be allowed to die with him.”

Aris glanced at the Ward and saw she was deadly serious. She lowered the solagun but stabbed him again with the sythin, this time in the neck. She
really
didn’t want him following them. Then she grabbed Galena’s arm. “Let’s go.”

They burst into the hall; it was empty, but she could hear noise in the direction she’d come from. The guards.

She had to get to Milek.

She ran, helping Galena along. The older woman’s face was red and oozing, her legs frail. She stumbled frequently, but kept moving.

Someone shouted behind them. Aris spun and shot her solagun toward the noise. One soldier went down; another kept after them. The two women flung themselves around the corner of the corridor. Up ahead, Milek was holding off three soldiers. He shot one in the stomach.

“Milek!” she tried to yell. He must have heard her, because he brought the other two soldiers down, fast and deadly as lightning, then turned to her.

Aris had almost reached him when an immense
thud
sent her flying.

She slid along the floor to his feet, her shoulder exploding in pain.

“What—” Her brain wouldn’t work. And her legs weren’t any better. Sounds ricocheted above her—shouting, the hiss of solaguns—but she couldn’t keep track of the noise. She couldn’t keep track of anything.

“Gods, she’s been shot,” someone cried.

“Come on, Aris!” That was Milek. She knew his voice.

Strong hands gripped her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. Her arm went around his neck, and she was stumbling down a long white hallway.

They burst into the large open room with the prisoners. The room was filled with smoke and chaos. Milek skidded to a halt at the far wall. She slammed against him. There was no door, no way out.

“What . . . ?” she whispered.

Milek smacked two explosives against the wall, then hauled her back toward a line of guards bearing down on them. Galena’s eyes met hers, but all Aris could see was the burning of her skin, the red—

A guard shot off another flash of solagun fire, but Milek dragged her down to the floor just in time. She wanted to close her eyes, rest for a moment, just a moment.

Then the world exploded.

Milek shoved her and Galena through the smoking hole in the wall. She felt the concussion of another blast behind her, but she couldn’t turn to see. She stumbled.

“Can you fly?” a voice shouted in her ears.

Could she fly? Flying was
all
she could do, all she was. If Aris couldn’t fly, she was nothing.

She nodded.

Arms shoved her into the cabin of a wingjet. Her hands were on the controls. She felt the pedals beneath her bare feet. She should have boots on. Where were her boots?

The warmth of another body filled the seat beside her. The shield closed.

Noise exploded in front of her. Silhouetted in the bright lights, an army stood. Solagun fire flashed.

“Now, Aris!” Milek yelled.

The wingjet rose, perfectly vertical, and then she shot forward, into the clump of men. Dull thuds echoed along the bottom of the jet. Distant screams. She flicked her hand and the jet twisted, gaining speed and height until they were spinning up and into the night.

For a while, flashes and booms exploded beneath her, and she spun and dipped and whirled. Through the dark, through the silence, she danced.

Eventually, the light died, and then it was just the black.

She glanced at the nav map; a forest spread before them, ridges of trees and barren land reaching up toward her. The squiggles of land mass went hazy, fading slowly in and out.

“Milek,” she whispered, her hands loosening their grip on the controls. “You need to take over . . . I’m . . . I’m . . .”

I’m nothing,
she thought as the darkness claimed her.